


Breath

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Breathplay, F/M, Masturbation, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't feel right without a little danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath

It was an age of high collared dresses, of whalebone corsets that created women's forms by using constriction. A strip of velvet with a cameo, pulled just a little tighter than absolutely necessary. Helen remembered nights in the carriage, the driver just a few scant inches away as John's hand slid from her hair to the scarf around her neck. His nimble fingers would pluck at the material, then pull it taut until the material was tight against the front of her throat. She would close her eyes as his free hand rested heavy and hot on her thigh, massaging gently as her face turned red and her lips parted in a futile attempt to get air. And then when he released her, that first blissful inhalation... it was like orgasm, and often she did climax not long after he freed her.

Helen pushed back the blankets and smoothed her hands over the sheets. She knelt beside the bed, feet tucked underneath her as she lifted the duvet. A carved wooden box was hidden in the shadows and she pulled it out with both hands, squeezing the lock to release it and reverently lifted the lid. Her scarves lay within, sheer and silky, folded as lovingly as any country's flag. She brushed the material of one between her thumb and forefinger before choosing one that was a deep scarlet.

She ran it through her fingers as she brought it up to her lips. She kissed the material and pulled, letting it slide across them before it fell away. It was her favorite; firm, with a good length, and she liked the color of the end she tied around her wrist. She looped the material around her throat in a knot she had taken years to perfect, then lifting her braided hair over her right shoulder so it wouldn't be in the way. Her hair on her right shoulder, she let the end of the scarf drape over her left as she knelt in the center of the bed. She wrapped the sheer material around her arm, gripped the end, and pulled until the noose was tight.

She reached back and moved her pillow, lifting one leg to straddle it. She pressed her hand against her dark pubic hair and used her middle finger to tease her clit. When she bent her elbow, the scarf went slack and the pressure on her throat decreased. When she straightened her arm, it pulled tight. Helen closed her eyes and began to move her arm and hips in a matching rhythm.

John Druitt was the first. _"Do you trust me?"_ He hadn't waited for an answer; that first time or any other. He simply put his hand over her throat and squeezed. She remembered gasping, her lips open in a shocked "O" as he continued to move inside of her. Her eyes rolled back, but not from lack of air. The world grew foggy at the edges, and every sensation was suddenly... vivid and bright. It was as if the world ceased to matter. She didn't have to care about oxygen or noise or temperature.

Her vagina was the center of existence, the long slick length of John Druitt's cock the heart of her universe. Her eyes closed. She could hear the sounds of his exertion, but it seemed to be coming from miles away. She felt his hand on her hip, but it was a separate entity. His cock, her sex. Nothing else was real.

It was better solo, she had decided. All she had to worry about, her only care, was her own pleasure. She controlled when she breathed. There was no shock of ejaculation, no sudden ability to inhale to ruin the effect. She stretched her arm out, her hand flat, and the scarf cinched. Her chin lifted and her lips parted; instinct only. Her body craved air, but she knew exactly how long she could go without it. 

_"Dr. Magnus...? Were you... attacked?"_

_"Bloody hell... how embarrassing." Large hands help her up, and tea is placed in her trembling hands. There's no judgment in her manservant's face. There never was._

She rubbed herself against the pillow, arm relaxing slightly just to tighten again. She bared her teeth. Her lungs burned, her chest arching forward as they expanded to get even a tiny bit of oxygen. She denied them. Her middle finger moved against her clit, moving down over her labia for the moisture so it could slide more easily across the bud. Her mind felt separate from her body, and she focused on teasing it. 

Helen angled her hips and released her clit. She pushed her middle finger between her labial lips, stroking before adding her forefinger. 

_John using the scarf like a leash, her back arched as he fucked her from behind, his sweat dripping onto her bowed back as she shoved back to meet him, choking for a breath of air._

Helen croaked and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She applied pressure to her mound with the heel of her hand, stretching her other arm out to tighten her noose even further. Her temples and face burned from oxygen deprivation. She bucked against the pillow as her orgasm overtook her. The memories--

_John's arm across her throat, brick rough against her back, her knees spread apart like a wanton doxy with her dress raised up, his cock pistoning in and out of her as theatre-goers passed mere yards from where John took her._

\--were as vivid as if they were happening in front of her on a screen. She parted her lips, this time almost tasting John's come as it coated her tongue. She twisted her wrist and the scarf came loose. She pulled air into her tortured lungs and, when she fell, cried out a single syllable, a name, and the tears burning at the corners of her eyes burst free as she hit the mattress. She tightened her thighs around the pillow, trembling through her orgasm as she slipped her fingers around the scarf to further loosen it.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. As much as she craved the denial, the air was ambrosia when she finally let herself taste it. Crisp and clean, like water. She felt it spread through her body, amplifying her orgasm until she was a quivering mess of a woman lying on sheets wrinkled by her movements. Her toes curled, and she coughed, just thrice, and pulled the scarf off. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, breathing through her nose, exhaling through parted lips, and felt her extremities becoming cooler.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. As she returned to her body, Helen Magnus smiled and crossed her arms over her chest, taking a moment to enjoy the post-climax bliss before she began dressing for bed.


End file.
